Watching "Dirty Hands: The Art & Crimes of David Choe," a hipster documentary about the rise of a street artist in Los Angeles, proves as enigmatic as its subject: You feel engaged. Bored. Exhilarated. Offended. Illuminated. Disoriented. All in the same minute.

Which of these feelings you most register may depend on where you fit in (or don't) on the ultra-contemporary art scene.

What director Harry Kim has going for him is that he followed Choe from his inauspicious beginnings, as a spray-can bomber who hits bus stops and freeway walls, through his triumphs at multimillion-dollar gallery exhibitions. Along the way are stops in the Congo, a Japanese jail, even the Los Angeles riots.

The film soars when it shows Choe practicing his craft, whether in a dark alley or on a more conventional canvas. At one point, perhaps the most powerful moment in the film, Choe suddenly attacks himself, literally, then uses the dripping blood from his nose as paint.

Less effective are Choe's extended, expletive-filled soliloquies about selling out, jail time, girlfriend troubles, etc. Though Choe often comes off as funny and entertaining, even insightful, his discussions could have been trimmed by half. His art speaks for itself.

All in all, Choe's self-indulgent, adolescent exploits make for a fascinating, if somewhat jumbled, journey. It's not every day that you run into a street artist, petty thief, porn illustrator, lesbian fiction ghost writer, world traveler, graphic novelist, muralist, sex addict and born-again Christian, all rolled into one.

Kim set out to make a renegade film about a renegade genius. And that he did.

Filmmaker Harry Kim will be doing Q&As after the evening screenings at the Roxie tonight and Saturday.